


Their First Time

by Socrates7727



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, First Time, Gay Sex, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Virgin Draco Malfoy, Virgin Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socrates7727/pseuds/Socrates7727
Summary: Postwar, Harry runs into Draco on the anniversary of his parents' murder. They get to talking, and... Neither of them are going to be virgins for much longer. Lemon! Sweet, HPDM drarry written for Day 3 of the 30 Day NSFW challenge!





	Their First Time

**Author's Note:**

> AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Please no flames!

Their first time did not happen the way either of them had expected it to, or wanted it to originally. Three years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry celebrated Halloween alone in a Muggle bar not far from King’s Cross. It was one of his favorite places to be alone. Hermione and Ron had offered to take him along when they took Ruby trick-or-treating, but he’d refused. George and Charlie had invited him to a party, promising alcohol, but Harry preferred to get drunk in private anyways so he’d refused that offer as well. 

It wasn’t any of their faults, and he’d told them that a hundred times. Somewhere between the war and the trials, Halloween had stopped being a children’s holiday and had become the night of his parents’ murder. None of them understood why it was such a big deal, now, when he’d celebrated Halloween with them every year at Hogwarts. He didn’t have the heart to tell them. 

Harry Potter, the one who had grown up in his cupboard and the one whose parents had died in a car crash, had never known the date of the accident. Petunia had refused to tell him, for fear that he would go looking for records or incident reports. He’d known the year, approximately, but no one would ever tell him anything more. So, without a day to grieve or mourn, he’d let it simmer and build inside him until it came out whenever he was already weak—during the anxiety attacks, during holidays, or after the nightmares. It was when he felt alone that he’d grieve for them; for the people he would never get to know. 

He’d found out from Remus accidentally during his sixth year. Everyone had assumed that he’d already known, and Remus was completely enraged that his relatives hadn’t even given him a date. They’d spent that first Halloween sharing memories and ugly crying over glasses of firewhiskey. Now, Remus was dead, Sirius was dead, and even Pettigrew was dead. Everyone who had felt the pain of that night was gone, and Harry sometimes wished that he’d died with them. 

Harry had spent every Halloween since Remus’ death alone, with at least half a bottle of firewhiskey. Every other day of the year, he smiled for the cameras and he excelled, both with work and with his friends, but on Halloween he let himself slip. On Halloween, he could drink himself into oblivion if he wanted to, or he could go home with some random person he’d never see again. Normal rules didn’t apply. 

And, on this Halloween, as luck would have it, Harry found himself only a quarter of the way through his bottle when his pity party was rudely interrupted. The man sat only a barstool to his left because it was crowded as hell. He wore a basic masquerade mask, as if that actually counted as a costume or hid his identity, but Harry didn’t need to see his face—he knew that blond hair anywhere. 

“Malfoy.” Beside him, the blond whipped around and stared. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed Harry and was much more sober because his surprise registered instantly. Harry just took another swig. 

“Potter, I didn’t expect… Nevermind. I’ll go.” Draco stood and moved away as if to leave, but Harry caught his wrist. He couldn’t say why he did it, exactly, or what made him coax the blond back down beside him and order another round, but he did. The Slytherin looked too shocked to know if he should relax, or run while he still could. 

“You’re acting strange.” Harry shrugged, but the motion didn’t stop him from gulping down another inch or so of the bottle. Draco crinkled his nose at it. 

“Is it against the law to drink on the anniversary of your parents’ murder?” Immediately, Draco’s face tightened. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard enough to draw blood, healing it with a wordless charm. Slowly, he took a sip of his own drink.

“No, it isn’t. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you alone.”

“Ditto.” Harry, more than a little tipsy at that point, thought he had made an excellent comeback and was therefore very confused when Draco just downed a large gulp of alcohol instead of replying. He winced at the burn before noticing Harry’s expression.

“I’m always alone now, Potter.” Oh. He hadn’t meant to make it so depressing or antagonistic between them so quickly. Maybe he’d pulled Malfoy back down beside him in the hopes of having something to take his emotions out on, but he hadn’t meant for it to happen like this. The blond didn’t even sound sad about it anymore, which was almost worse. 

“Your father always—”

“Dead.” Harry swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in his throat. Lucius was dead? Since when?

“Your mother, then—”

“Dead.” 

“Pansy and Blaise were always with you—”

“Both dead.” Malfoy leveled his gaze, and Harry couldn’t help noticing the distinct pinch at the corner of each eye. “They’re all dead, Potter, so you can stop listing people now. Otherwise, we’ll be here all night.” They were all dead… When? He hadn’t heard anything or seen anything in the papers about either of the Malfoys, and Pansy and Blaise had survived the final battle as far as he knew. 

“What happened?” The blond stared at him, as if trying to decide if he was serious or not, before laughing. It was dark and painful, though, not like it was supposed to sound. 

“The trials happened. Azkaban for every single one of them.”

“Azkaban isn’t the same as death, though—” Draco’s glare said it was. 

“They all got the Kiss. Their bodies may still be alive but there’s nothing left of them anymore.” The silence weighed on them like pounds of lead. Harry didn’t want to break it, for fear of whatever might come next, but Draco seemed more than content to just nurse his firewhiskey.

“Why aren’t you with them, then?” It was a cruel question, but Draco had never done anything to earn his sugarcoating. He seemed to agree with that, too, because he merely looked up at the question rather than reaching for his wand—or worse, the door.

“I got lucky,” he muttered, glaring at his hands. “It’s always just been luck. McGonagall found me and got me out before I could receive the Kiss. She wanted me to train the new Potions Master at Hogwarts.” Harry was definitely drunk, because he was certain that he’d heard that wrong. 

“You teach at Hogwarts?” Grey, unforgiving eyes cut into him the second he spoke.

“No, I  _ taught _ at Hogwarts. They would never employ a Death Eater, I was just training Snape’s replacement. He was my godfather and I studied under him for years, so I was the logical, temporary choice.” Harry nodded like he understood, but his mind was reeling. Snape had been Draco’s godfather? Was that why the blond had always been so good at potions? One part of the whole explanation managed to make sense, though, and Harry latched onto that as tightly as possible.

“If you don’t work there anymore, what do you do?” Draco shrugged noncommittally and turned his gaze back to somewhere behind the bar. Harry could understand his hesitancy. Work was not readily available for anyone at the moment, let alone a former Death Eater, and he had no doubt that the blond had had to dip into some less than legal forms of income at least once or twice. There was no way in hell he was going to confess that to an Auror, though. 

“Forget I asked. I have a bottle of wine back at my flat—don’t ask me what kind, it’s red and it was expensive, that’s all I know—but I got it as a gift and I don’t drink wine. I know you do, though. You want it?” That was enough to earn Draco’s full attention, apparently, because those gorgeous grey eyes settled on him without any malice or anger for the first time that night. He loved it.

“I’m listening.” Harry grinned, because he could guess that that was as close to a yes as he was going to get. Without further ado, he downed the rest of his bottle and paid the tab, dragging the blond by the arm to the nearest empty alleyway. He pulled out his wand, not even thinking, but a warm, pale hand closed around his. 

“You’re too drunk to Apparate us. Let me.” His hand released without his direction, and he knew he should have thought that through but he couldn’t care. Draco took his wand, wrapped an arm around his waist, and then they were gone.

* * *

They landed in the flat about as gracefully as Harry would have expected. His wand was returned, and neither of them questioned how Draco had managed to use it to perform such a complex spell without a single mistake. He got the wine down from on top of the fridge, ignoring the way Draco hovered while he balanced on a chair to reach, and handed it over—but he hesitated. It felt too soon for it to end. 

“You could teach me, you know.” Draco raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. “At fancy ministry gatherings and stuff. They always have wine like this and everyone comments on the  _ body _ or the  _ under palate _ and I just have to stand there looking like an idiot because I’ve never even drank wine before. You could teach me, though.” For a second, Harry thought he might have overstepped. Anxiety danced across the blond’s face and he was sure that this was over, that their moment had come crashing down on them like the fragile little thing that it was, but then Draco smiled. 

“Sure, do you have glasses?” He didn’t have any—because he didn’t drink wine, as he explained yet again—but Draco transfigured some out of two normal glasses. Again, he used Harry’s wand and, again, neither of them questioned it. Draco poured them each a glass, and gestured to the kitchen table. If he’d been sober, Harry might have noticed the informality of Draco’s choice when the full dining room was only a few feet away, and he might have noticed that Draco had chosen the chair closest to his. But, he was far from sober, so he noticed neither of those things. 

“Let me show you,” Draco swirled the liquid and took a tiny sip. “Large, full body. I can taste cinnamon and a hint of plum which rounds out the forefront of the taste quite nicely. The sharpness of the barrel’s wood lingers in it, which I can’t say I love, but there are Versailles grapes and Alder grapes, which work together to mask the original bitterness. Overall, a delightful wine.” Harry gaped at him. 

“How the hell did you do that?” The blond beside him—not across from him—smirked and took another small drink. 

“I made it up.” They were both smiling, though for very different reasons, and Harry only managed a silent sort of disbelief. There was no way, right? But a large part of him instinctively trusted that the blond really had just pulled that out of his ass because he’d never seen Draco  _ giggle _ before. He looked positively giddy that he’d just pulled that off, and it was honestly kind of endearing. 

“I swear it! There’s no such thing as Alder grapes or Versailles grapes and I don’t taste anything but alcohol. Now, you try.” Draco gestured encouragingly to his glass, but Harry still hesitated. There was no way he could pull it off that well, was there? His hand shook, but he swirled the wine—that looked like blood, the longer he stared at it—and was lifting it to his lips when—

“No, no! Not like that! Here,” And then Draco’s hand was covering his own, warm and steady and everything he wasn’t. “You want the wine to aerate a little—that means air it out—”

“I know what aerate means.”

“So you can smell it. Hold here, and swirl like this. Now smell.” Harry obeyed, and the aroma hit him like a slap to the face. He recoiled, and Draco laughed. 

“I didn’t say it would smell good, I just said it would smell  _ more _ . Now, take a sip.” Harry did, but Draco was immediately taking the glass away from him again. “No, don’t gulp it. This is supposed to be a fine wine, you have to  _ sample _ it like some kind of timid forest creature.” He tried again, taking a much smaller sip, and looked to Draco for approval. “Better, but be more appraising with your expression when you taste it, like you’re trying to figure out if it’s poisoned or not.” 

Harry was seriously beginning to wonder about Draco’s safety if all his metaphors involved forest creatures and poison, but he did as he was told and tried to imagine searching the liquid for some kind of a poison. There was none, of course, but when he glanced back to Draco, the blond looked much more pleased. 

“Yes, exactly like that. Now, describe it to me.” Draco’s hand was still covering his, and Harry tried desperately not to let that distract him but it did. The Slytherin was just so… warm. He’d always associated the dark, wet dungeons with Draco and he’d always imagined that his skin would be cold to the touch, if not from environment then from the Dark Mark, but he’d been so, so wrong. Draco’s skin was like fire against his own. It didn’t hurt, though, the way Harry thought it was supposed to—it was actually kind of comforting. He took a sip, watching as grey eyes tracked his swallow. 

“Um…” He tried to think, to remember some of the things Draco had said only moments earlier. “Full body, and… It’s bitter. Maybe because of the grape it’s made from? I don’t know. I can’t do this, I’m not as confident as you and everyone will know instantly that I’m full of shit.” Draco narrowed his eyes. For a split second, Harry was sure that he was going to be hexed or yelled at for not trying hard enough, but the blond merely slid closer to the edge of his seat. He could feel Draco’s heartbeat through his skin. 

“No, stop thinking like that. You can say anything about the damn wine, and people will believe you. You could say it tasted like fucking unicorn blood, and people would trip over themselves to agree with you because you’re Harry fucking Potter, do you understand me?” It took every ounce of willpower Harry had to shake his head. He didn’t understand why his identity had anything to do with what he was supposed to say about wine, and he didn’t understand why Draco’s gaze was suddenly so intense. His palm began to sweat against the glass. 

“I can say shit,” Draco tried again, “And people believe it, because I grew up in an aristocratic family. Everything I learned about wine, I learned while stealing it from the kitchens to get blackout drunk when I was seven, but they believe me because they don’t want to seem stupid. They want to impress me, because I was rich. People want to impress you, because you’re the bloody Savior of the Wizarding World and you could make someone look like a fool without even trying. You wouldn’t, I know, but you  _ could _ . So try again, and this time say it like you’re daring the people around you to disagree with you.” 

Harry swallowed hard, unable to take his eyes off the man who was just inches from him. He swirled the wine, very aware of Draco’s hand resting completely lax over his own and just waiting to take over if needed, but no correction came so he lifted the glass to his lips. A tiny, miniscule sip slid over his tongue. His face twisted ever so slightly as he sorted through the liquid for any hint of poison, but Draco was silent so he took as encouragement to keep going. Finally, he opened his mouth.

“It’s a rough, full body but it’s still a bit shallow for my taste,” he started, and Draco nodded to keep going. “The mixture of maple and cedar barrel woods are hidden in the aftertaste, but they’re still pleasant. Nutmeg overpowers the original bitterness, but it also overpowers the sweetness that follows. Overall, it could be better.” Draco grinned at him and Harry felt the air leave his lungs. He hadn’t realized he’d been so terrified of messing up until he’d succeeded, but the smile that he’d earned was damn near unholy.

“That was perfect.” But Draco’s voice was low, now, and their hands were still touching. Harry felt completely intoxicated, but it wasn’t the alcohol or the wine anymore and they both seemed to know that. Draco broke the silence first.

“I told you that you could do it,” His breath smelled like wine, and Harry found himself leaning closer. “You’re Harry fucking Potter… There isn’t a witch or wizard in the world who wouldn’t drop everything for a chance to please you.” 

“Except you.” Harry hadn’t meant to say it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take it back. It was true, after all. Draco knew that, too, apparently and he bit his lip, a cruel sort of irony twisting his expression into a smile. 

“Right, of course. Everyone except me…” They were mere inches apart, and Harry was positive that he could feel the blond’s breath on his face despite the distance. “I was never going to make a fool out of myself for the benefit of someone else, not even the Savior.”

“I never wanted you to be a fool, I just wanted you to be less of a prick.” Draco snorted, but they were past the point of smiling, now. 

“That’s fair, I suppose. I was an asshole to you and your friends back at school, and now… If I told you I was less of a git? If I said I’ve made mistakes, if I said I have regrets, or if I said I wanted things to be different between us?” Harry set down the wine glass, but kept the hand touching his. 

“I would ask how different.” He’d kept the contact, but it was Draco who intertwined their fingers, searching his face like he was just waiting to be rejected. Harry knew that feeling very well. 

“And if I said  _ very _ different?” He squeezed, and Harry felt the words behind it more than he heard them. 

“I would ask what you were waiting for.” They stared at each other, not breathing, for what felt like an eternity. Harry would never have admitted it, but he was terrified that Draco would back out. He wasn’t sure what he would have done… This already seemed too fragile and he just— 

The moment their lips met, any thought of chickening out left Harry’s mind in a brilliant rush of warmth. There was no instant bliss or otherworldly feeling—they were human, not characters in a movie—but Harry would have been lying if he said it wasn’t amazing. Maybe it was because it had been such a long time coming, or maybe it was because Harry had only ever kissed women, but Draco’s touch was  _ electric _ . 

It set his very soul on fire and gave him confidence like a thousand doses of liquid luck. He’d never been very sure of himself when it came to relationships… Hermione called it anxiety, Ron called it the Virgin’s Curse. Harry didn't much care what it was called, though, because apparently Draco had cured him of it. 

The blond was in his lap, now, grinding against him and grabbing for anything Harry would let him hold onto—from his shirt to his hair. He couldn’t exactly remember how they’d ended up in that position, but he knew that he’d instigated it. There wasn’t an ounce of regret in his system, though. Because Draco broke the kiss, blinked, and looked absolutely  _ wrecked _ . 

“Bedroom?” Harry opened his mouth to agree, but nothing came out. God, he wanted this, but his throat kept closing every time he even  _ thought _ about speaking. What was he supposed to say? Draco was watching him, though. The blond placed a hand on either side of his face and forced their eyes to meet—curious silver against terrified green. 

“Are you a virgin, Potter?” He didn’t speak, but the horrible flush in his cheeks was answer enough. His stomach heaved and threatened to undo all the drinking he’d just done if Draco so much frowned in reaction. The blond was completely calm, though. 

“Me too.” If Harry had been drinking anything in that moment, he would have spit it everywhere. It was Draco’s turn to blush.

“But Pansy?” Draco reached back behind him and downed his entire glass of wine— which, Harry had to admit, looked damn good on Draco’s lips, even if he didn’t particularly like wine. He wanted to kiss it off. But that was not what they were doing, currently, so Harry forced himself to focus on the conversation. 

“Pansy was my fiance, but she was never my girlfriend. The closest I ever got was with Blaise, but that would have never worked. If our parents had found out…” Draco shuddered, and Harry felt the motion all through his body.  _ If their parents had found out _ … what? What would have happened?

“Isn’t the Wizarding World more accepting of stuff like that?” Draco snorted and traded his glass for the one Harry'd been drinking. He emptied that one too.

“Of what? Gayness? The normal Wizarding World maybe but not the Pureblood one. At least that’s one good thing about them being gone…” Draco paled, as if he’d just admitted something horrible, and busied himself with their empty glasses. 

“It’s okay,” Harry whispered, unsure if the blond could even hear him. “You don’t have to miss everything about them. That doesn’t mean you don’t love them, and that doesn’t make you a bad person.” Briefly, Harry wondered if he sounded like his therapist, or if Draco would even know what therapy was. He, of all people, could use some. Now wasn’t the time for that discussion, though, because the blond looked close to tears. 

“What?” It came out as barely half a sigh, and Harry couldn’t help feeling a pang of… something at that. Was it guilt? He’d put that emotion in Draco’s voice, after all. Now, it was his job to fix it.

“I mean it. I miss Dumbledore, and I visit his grave with Ron and ‘Mione every year, but I sure as  _ hell _ don’t miss him keeping secrets or lying to me. You can love and miss someone, without missing  _ everything _ about them.” Draco was looking at him as if he couldn’t decide between bawling or laughing. There was relief in his expression, though, so Harry let it be. 

“You really are an insufferable bleeding heart, Harry.” The name was like lead weights on both their tongues. They stopped, and the glass slid from Draco’s hand, shattering at their feet, but Harry repaired it without even looking. He broke things like that accidentally all the time still, whenever he was upset, but he’d gotten equally good at fixing them. Draco swallowed hard, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” He stopped the blond with a finger over his lips.

“You don’t ever have to apologize for using my first name,  _ Draco _ .” Immediately, any tension between them evaporated. The blond smiled at him—genuinely—and Harry thought that he might have been blessed; then those wine-stained lips flew to his throat and Harry  _ knew _ he had been. 

Draco sucked at his pulse point and left little love bites along his collarbone until it was like they’d never stopped—like there had been no awkward conversation or mini therapy session. Harry was breathless and it was all he could do just to keep his hands on Draco’s waist. He wanted to feel skin. This time, it was Harry who panted that dangerous question.

“Bedroom? If you want to, I mean, if not then—” Draco silenced him with a soft kiss—the softest yet, actually.

“I want.” Draco eased himself off of Harry’s lap, but kept their hands intertwined while Harry stood. The Gryffindor led the Slytherin down the hall and into his bedroom, letting Draco take in the decor and the atmosphere like a judgemental interior designer. The blond evidently approved, though, because when Harry turned back to him, he was smiling. 

“It suits you.” Coming from the aristocrat with custom leather shoes and tailored… well, everything, that felt like a compliment. Maybe it was meant to be one?

“So, which one of is going to… you know?” Draco’s laugh was the most beautiful, humiliating sound Harry had ever heard. He flushed bright red, but then there were hands on his waist and they were so fucking warm… 

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t laughing  _ at _ you. You’re too pretty to laugh at… And we can do whatever you’re most comfortable with. I may be a virgin, but I get the feeling I still have more experience with this kind of thing than you do.”

“What? Relationships?”

“With being gay, sweetheart.” The petname rolled off of Draco’s tongue like liquid candy, thought it was sharp and obviously sarcastic. Harry’s muddled brain didn’t care.

“Call me that again.” It wasn’t a threat, it was an honest request. He’d always had a fast metabolism, especially with alcohol, and he was quickly sobering up but it didn’t seem to matter. He still wanted to do this. Every little thing that Draco said or did was a kind of intoxicating his body had never had to process before, and he was more than drunk on it. They both seemed to be.

“I want to see you naked,  _ sweetheart _ .” God, Harry was in  _ way _ over his head. He had half a mind to vanish all of their clothes right then and there, but he didn’t. This was too precious to rush. He wanted to feel the strain of every muscle as it was freed from those black robes, and he wanted to see every inch of skin as he uncovered it—like some kind of sexy treasure hunt. 

Draco did not disappoint. For every article of clothing Harry removed, he mirrored it. Shoes, socks, robes, shirts… By the time they’d gotten down to pants, Harry was ready to curse whatever part of him had wanted to take this slow earlier. Now, he wanted Draco and he wanted him as fast as humanly—or magically—possible. 

Even just looking at him felt like some kind of taunt from the universe. It seemed too good to be true, and when Harry Potter’s life seemed too good to be true, it usually was. Draco seemed to sense his anxiety, and he paused, looking confused.

“What’s wrong?” Harry just shook his head.

“This isn’t real, is it?” The blond blinked. He looked so taken aback that Harry almost faltered, but no. He knew better than to trust things like this. If he’d learned anything over the last ten years of his life, it was to  _ always _ look a gift horse in the mouth. Draco blinked again and took a step forward, as if to hex him now that his evil plan had been found out. He lifted his hands, palms out, and Harry braced but… 

Nothing came. Gently, Draco took his face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I’m nervous too.” Harry deflated instantly. He knew that he had issues with trust and with accepting good things—his therapist had told him so—but he’d never had it shut down so  _ effortlessly _ . Draco just held them like that, though, until he began to breathe again. How had he…? It didn’t matter. With his anxiety out in the open, it was at least understandable, and Harry nodded in thanks.  _ I’m nervous too. _

Their kiss was almost sickeningly sweet, both too afraid of scaring the other off. Harry could have used some liquid luck right then. He got it only moments later when Draco undid the clasp of his jeans and guided their bodies back onto the bed. Somehow, the contact of their bare chests was the slap in the face that Harry had been looking for and he realized how infinitely close he had come to almost screwing this up forever. That couldn’t happen—not now.

“Draco…” Those lips were on his chest, on his stomach, hovering over each nipple and licking some sort of pattern down to his boxers. It was strange, and not at all how Harry had imagined it would be, but it was heavenly. The only thing that managed to disrupt his bliss was the desire to  _ feel _ . 

“Draco.” He was more insistent that time, but Draco refused to let up. Rather than fight him, Harry locked his knees around the blond’s waist and flipped them. Instantly, Draco’s entire demeanor changed. His pupils dilated to twice their original size, his chest rose and fell in shallow little pants, and his body went pliant under Harry’s grip. Did Draco  _ like  _ him taking control? 

It took less than a second for that drug-like confidence to come rushing back to him, and Harry immediately went with it. That was the only way to describe it. He rolled their hips together—jean against boxer material—and relished in the full body shiver he earned in response. Draco’s breath was hot against his throat but this hadn’t been the goal, so Harry backed off and instead trailed his lips down that gorgeous pale chest. 

He kept his eyes closed, terrified of opening them only to see scars from the sectumsempra incident. This precious encounter had already come so close to collapsing on them so many times that night… he wasn’t ready for it to happen again. Avoiding the problem would work, right? Draco seemed to think so, or at least not mind it much in comparison to the way Harry was touching him. 

Harry was more than nervous. He’d never done anything remotely like this and he had seen gay wizarding porn only once by accident, which didn’t give him much to go off of. Still, he tried to at least seem confident as he tugged Draco’s boxers down to his knees. He could definitely do this, couldn’t he? It couldn’t be  _ that _ hard if bloody teenagers could manage to figure it out, right? 

“Hey, relax.” Draco’s voice, oddly enough, allowed him to do just that. He pressed his lips against hot, pale skin that quivered under his touch and he trailed his way all the way down to the waistband of Draco’s boxers. Black, with green detailing. How very Slytherin…

Harry didn’t voice that thought aloud, instead he hooked a finger under the band on each side and slowly tugged the material off. God, Draco was  _ huge _ . He wasn’t really, of course, and was actually rather average if Harry could remember the statistics right, but the thought of that going inside him made it seem gigantic. That was definitely not happening today—maybe next time. Wait, since when was there going to be a next time?

“You’re doing great, baby, just watch your teeth, mkay?” He nodded, but his mind caught over that word.  _ Baby _ . It’d been years since anyone had used any term of endearment with him and, even then, he remembered hating them. They always felt wrong and unnecessary. From Draco’s lips, though, it was like the reassurance of a lifetime. He lowered his mouth to the flesh, licking tentatively in a few places. Draco hissed, and at first he was sure that he’d hurt the blond, but then he realized the sound had been made in pleasure. He did it again, and mouthed at the base just to see what Draco would do. 

The blond took a very slow, very deep breath that made it very clear he was trying to control himself. Harry took that as a good sign. He felt brave again, somehow, and he took Draco’s length into his mouth as far as it would go, earning a full body shudder from the man beneath him. Encouraged, he tried again and pushed it back farther into his throat. Too far, apparently. 

The second he gagged, Draco was pulling him back by the hair and cupping his cheek. Tears came to Harry’s eyes, but he had no idea why because it hadn’t even hurt. Rather than question him, Draco just pressed their lips together. It was sweet, and simple. 

“You don’t have to, baby.” But Harry shook his head. The tone of Draco’s voice sounded a lot like disappointment and, as sure as he was that that wasn’t the emotion behind it, he still hated it. The tears in his eyes welled. 

“I want to.” He sounded like a petulant child, but Draco just nodded and kissed him again. Slowly, he guided Harry back down to his original position and tangled a hand in his hair to guide him. 

“Don’t take too much too fast, okay?” Harry nodded, but the movement was lost as Draco began to leisurely fuck his mouth. The blond was slow, and gentle, and clearly trying not to hurt him but Harry was sick of being coddled or babied. He shoved the blond’s hand away and attacked with ferocity. 

The moan that he pulled from Draco’s lips was  _ unholy _ . He did it again, faster and wetter, just to hear that sound and he was not disappointed. Before he could really find his rhythm, though, that hand was back and urging him to stop—why, though? Was he doing it wrong?

“Don’t look so sad, baby, you’re amazing. I don’t want it to end that quickly, is all. Come here.” Harry obeyed, and let pale, nimble fingers undo the clasp of his jeans. The material pooled around his feet and he kicked it off, far more focused on what Draco was doing. Draco was clearly more experienced with sexual situations, even if he hadn’t actually had sex, but Harry was not complaining because he definitely needed someone to show him what the hell he was supposed to do. 

With one hand, Draco completely removed Harry’s boxers. He tried not to flush or shy away, but Draco’s gaze was so intense and…

“You’re gorgeous.” The whisper touched his skin and tingled all over his body like some kind of drug. He relaxed, and let Draco touch and explore the way he had done only moments ago. His eyes wandered, and caught sight of the blond’s other hand. It was tucked between his legs, almost hidden from view, and… Christ. Draco was fingering himself open as he licked and mouthed at Harry’s cock—God, that thought was almost too much by itself. It made sense, realistically, because no one knew Draco’s body better than the blond himself. Still, Harry couldn’t help feeling a pang of bitterness at not being able to do the prep himself. 

Any negative feeling was washed away, however, the second Draco guided his length between those wine-stained lips. Draco’s mouth was so warm and so wet… He groaned, even as Draco pulled back. For a split second, he thought the blond was leaning in to whisper some kind of anxiety or to back out and Harry’s stomach dropped. Those lips touched his ear.

“Fuck me, Harry.” That did away with what little self control Harry had left. He didn’t bother with a condom, with Draco’s approval, and instead lined himself up at that beautiful, tight, pink hole. Draco mumbled a spell, which instantly coated his cock in warm lube, and then nodded. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He expected the blond to laugh at him, but Draco just smiled and grabbed his hips. Slowly, Harry let those hands guide him as he pressed into Draco’s hole at the exact pace Draco wanted—confident that he wouldn’t accidentally hurt the blond, now. When Draco let go, it took him a second to realize he’d bottomed out. He stayed there for a moment, just relishing the feeling of so many warm, tight muscles squeezing and pulling at his cock, before Draco urged him to move. 

The first thrust was like dynamite in his chest. Harry nearly fell, catching himself just barely before he crushed the man beneath him, but Draco took their closeness as an opportunity for a kiss. Merlin… Their tongues battled for dominance, curling around each other and learning every curve of the other’s mouth that they could reach, as Harry thrust again. 

That time, he earned a small grunt from the blond. It wasn’t long before, with Draco’s urging, he’d set a quick and teasing pace that had the man beneath him writhing on the mattress. Every breath was linked to the next with a string of begging. Harry tried to remember every word, and every sound the blond was making as if he could possibly relive this moment after it had passed. 

It was both of their first times, and neither had much in the way of stamina. After only a minute or two, Harry’s body was threatening to explode and Draco seemed to realize. He curled a hand around his own cock and jerked in time with Harry’s thrusts. Heat coiled in Harry’s gut, pooling around his organs and climbing up his spine, but all it took was the sight of Draco Malfoy coming completely  _ undone _ in his bed for his body to hit its breaking point. 

He came with Draco’s name on his lips. The blond fell apart moments later, coming in spurts across his own chest. Breathless, Harry pulled out and vanished the mess before either one of them could grow uncomfortable. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do at this point, but he was exhausted and the sweat on his skin had dried a little too cold for his taste so he summoned the comforter and pulled it over both of them. 

There had to be rules about what to do now, right? Well, if there were, Harry sure as hell didn’t know them. He wanted to reach out and pull Draco as close as possible until they were breathing the same air and their hearts were beating in sync, but was that allowed? Draco had given him enough bravery to just have sex for the first time, though, so he figured he could cuddle. Tentatively, he reached out. 

He honestly expected Draco to slap his hand away or flinch, but the blond did neither. Instead, Draco welcomed the touch and curled into Harry’s side as if their bare skin had always belonged together. With the euphoria still hanging over Harry, he wasn’t completely sure that they  _ didn’t _ belong together like that. 

“I like you.” It was a confession, but Draco snorted. 

“No shit, you just slept with me.” His silence seemed to be clue enough that he wasn’t joking, though, and Draco immediately changed his tone. “I like you too,  _ Potter _ .” And that was enough. There were no grand  _ I love you _ s or heartfelt confessions—at least not any  _ more _ —but it was more than enough because it was  _ them _ . Neither of them fell asleep right away, but Harry didn’t mind. It wasn’t awkward, and he actually found that liked playing with the blond’s hair and feeling his heartbeat against his chest. Soothing, was the only word Harry could think of to describe it. 


End file.
